And I have no patience for fools.
Rucca gritted his teeth. “I take it Angel’s Landing is a skyport, then?”
She ignored the question. “Don’t matter. Y’ain’t dockin.”
Rucca snapped his fingers at Carl, who knelt down beside him. Rucca spoke to him without pressing the transmit button. “Bring me a small pack of the water from the hold, Carl. Make it fast.”
The young sailor nodded, and he quickly returned with a six-pack of glass bottles filled with crystal-clear, purified water. He sat it on Rucca’s lap and backed away. Rucca pointed the device’s screen at the water and pressed the transmit button.
“Am I not docking?” he asked. “I have a hold full of water cleaner than you or any of your people have probably drunk in years. Why don’t we see if we can work out a deal, a trade. My crew hasn’t been to port for who knows how long, and we could use some supplies. What do you say?” He released the button and awaited the scraggly woman’s answer.
Rather than replying verbally, the skimmer launched another couple of attacks at the airship. This time, however, the shots were high above the gasbag tethered to the frigate’s masts and bow. The explosions barely rocked the ship, but they rattled the crew. Rucca knew why the skimmer had launched above them—the scraggly woman didn’t want to chance damaging the water in the cargo hold.
Murmurs and whispers began behind Rucca, and he immediately wheeled around to address his crew. “Quiet!” he yelled. “Quiet!” Once the murmurs died down, he continued by saying, “I don’t know what kind of people run Angel’s Landing, nor do I honestly have any idea what they’re capable of—”
More murmurs.
They do not know what I am capable of.
“But,” he said louder than the crew, “I do know what we are capable of, what this ship is capable of. There are bays of cannons down below with more than enough firepower to destroy this skimmer.” He spat out the last word like it was rotten meat. “Man the cannons, and blow them out of the sky!”
The crowd roared and sailors rushed below to ignite the cannons. The device cracked in Rucca’s hand. The scraggly woman appeared annoyed, “Are y’done yet? Ready t’surrender, pirate?”
I am not a pirate.
Perfectly timed, the sailors below deck fired the cannons at her skimmer. The pontoons that skimmed the cloudtop exploded as cannonballs passed through them. Rucca watched the tiny screen on the device as a cannonball crashed through the cockpit of the craft and tore through the scraggly woman’s body. Crippled, the skimmer sagged in the air, barely able to stay afloat.
Cheers erupted from the Primrose Doubloon, but quickly fell silent as three other skimmers joined the wreckage of the scraggly woman’s craft.
“Fire!” Rucca yelled, and two of the new skimmers exploded as cannonballs ripped through them. When only one craft remained, Rucca called for the ceasefire. He pressed the button on the device, hoping that the pilot could hear him. “Lead us to Angel’s Landing.”
The skimmer turned around and flew back the way it came, and the Primrose Doubloon followed.
***
A tall, lean man in a shabby suit walked along the docking platform of Angel’s Landing. He wore a top hat with wind-goggles resting on the brim. As he walked, he removed the goggles from his hat and placed them over his eyes. Upon arriving at the edge of the docking platform, he held up his left hand and waved something in the air.
Rucca recognized it as a transmitter because he was holding an identical device himself. He waited for the man to speak into it, but he never did. Instead, the tall, goggled man stood there, staring at the Primrose Doubloon.
“Bring her in,” Rucca said to his crew. “Go ahead and dock, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Is that a good idea, your majesty?” Gully asked.
“We’re about to find out.”
The man from Angel’s Landing held up his empty hand toward the airship, signaling Rucca’s ship to stop. He also held out the communicator and pressed the transmit button.
“I would ask that you do not bring your vessel any closer to Angel’s Landing just yet,” said the man. The wind-goggles made his expression hard to read on the tiny screen, which Rucca guessed was the whole point in wearing them.
Listen to him.
Rucca held up his own hand to signal the crew to stop. The airship hovered a good distance away from the skyport, but they were close enough that Rucca and the man didn’t have to use the tiny screens on the communicators to see one another. They stared at each other for a few moments, then Rucca pressed the button and said, “We’ve stopped. Now it’s my turn. Who are you, and why did your skimmer attack us?”
“My name is Edward Prescott,” the tall man said. “I am constable for Angel’s Landing, and unless my eyes are a bit worse than I thought, I don’t see a bit of damage to your airship.”
“I do not see what that has to do with our situation, Constable. Did I ask for aid or repairs?”
“No, you did not. However, the distinct lack of damage might make one wonder about you. I mean, if one were not mistaken, one might think that you attacked my skimmers unprovoked.”
Lies.
The man had a point, though, and Rucca’s stomach sank. The skimmers had not actually attacked them. They had only fired warning shots at the airship. He had ordered his crew to fire on them anyway.
Was he actually becoming a pirate?
Ignoring Prescott’s comment, Rucca said, “I am only here to trade, Constable. I have a hold full of clean water, more than we really need. I would love to open negotiations with your skyport. You know, trade the water we don’t need to get my crew some food, supplies, whatever.”
The water Rucca had shown to the skimmer pilot was still resting in his lap, so he once again turned the communicator’s screen toward it. Then he held a bottle up for Constable Prescott to see.
Judging by the look of the place, Angel’s Landing wouldn’t have a lot to offer the crew of the Primrose Doubloon, but it was the only skyport they’d wandered across in weeks. Rucca looked at the dock Constable Prescott stood on and the hub of the skyport looming behind him.
Angel’s Landing was no Cloud Nine, that was for sure. For starters, it was made almost entirely out of wood, even though that might not have always been the case. Wooden patches covered large portions of the metal underneath, which had probably rusted away since the skyport’s initial construction. The whole thing looked like it was held together with a few nails, a little bit of luck, and not much else.
Surely, though, even a run-down skyport like this would have a few rations to trade. Maybe some stale water to wash with and run the engines, and perhaps a few casks of ale or some kind of cheap wine.
However, Prescott followed Rucca’s lead and ignored the comment. “I feel you have me at a disadvantage. I have identified myself, but you have not given me your name, nor that of your ship.”
Rucca frowned, licked his lips, then said, “Apologies, Constable. My name is Demetri—”He coughed. “Captain Demetrius Rucca, and this is the Primrose Doubloon.”
If Prescott hadn’t been wearing goggles, Rucca was sure he would have seen the lean man’s eyes narrow. “Rucca, you say? Any relation to the High Prelate?”
Rucca sighed. “My father is Cornelius Rucca, the current High Prelate of the Assembled Court. So yes.”
The constable smiled and licked his teeth. “I believe we are beyond even the god-king’s reach out here, Captain Rucca.”
Do not be so sure of that.
“I meant it as no threat,” Rucca said.
“How you meant it is of no concern.”
Silence hung between them.
Taking a risk, Rucca asked, “May we dock and trade some of our water, then?”
Edward Prescott laughed. He bent over double, bracing his hands on his knees and outright guffawing. He stood up, skewed his wind-goggles and wiped—or mimed wiping—the tears from his eyes that had come from laughing so hard. He then doff
ed his top hat at Rucca and threw his communicator off the edge of the wooden dock. He then spun on his heel and walked away.
The wind caught the ragged tails of his suit jacket, which then flapped behind him as he walked away. The whole bit would have seemed very epic if not for the raggedness of his clothes, the shabbiness of the skyport, and the exaggerated way the man carried himself.
“Majesty?” Gully said, tapping Rucca on the shoulder.
Rucca watched the constable disappear inside Angel’s Landing, large wooden doors sealing behind him. He wheeled himself around and looked at his first mate. “Yes, Gully?”
Gully just pointed, and his finger led Rucca’s gaze directly to a whole squadron of skimmers coming from the other side of Angel’s Landing. In fact, as Rucca looked around, he saw at least two more squadrons of skimmers approaching his airship.
“Can we take them?” Rucca asked.
Of course we can.
“We can try, your majesty. The cannons are fully loaded.”
Rucca nodded. “Fire at will!”
Immediately the Primrose Doubloon rocked from the kickback as every cannon on the starboard side fired at once. Three skimmers were hit, but none of the damage was enough to slow them down. All three squadrons continued toward the airship.
“Continue firing!” Rucca yelled. “Until the very last one is gone!” Then he turned his attention back to Gully. “What I want you to do, Gully, is take the men who helped you get this ship, and go to port. I want you to get the ship close and—”
An explosion rocked the ship, and Rucca was almost knocked from his chair.
“Damage?” he yelled.
Someone in the crowd yelled back, “Hull was hit. Can’t tell how bad.”
“Like I said, Gully—” Another explosion, but the ship didn’t rock so hard. It must have missed. “I want you to get the ship close. Take the folks who got us this ship with you and get whatever you can carry.”
“But not just looting,” Rucca clarified. “Don’t just grab valuables. Get food, rations, any kind of fruit and vegetables you can find. Water, drinking or otherwise. Take whatever we need, then come back quick, okay?”
They’re as good as dead, you know.
Another round of explosions sounded, and Rucca felt the heat this time. He wheeled around as Gully went scampering across the deck, trying to find men and women he could bring to Angel’s Landing with him.
All three squadrons were within range, now, and they were all firing at the Primrose Doubloon.
We’re all as good as dead.
Cannonballs flew toward the skimmers, and Rucca watched each one connect. Some of the skimmers erupted into fire, while others simply fell from the sky.
A projectile flew past Rucca’s head and slammed into the foremast, taking a chunk out of it. Another zipped by and exploded not far from his chair. The shockwave was intense, and Rucca felt his balance fail and his chair tip over. He sprawled onto the deck and tried to pull himself out of the path of sailors and bums who ran from starboard to port, fore to aft, then back again.
The last thing he wanted was to be trampled to death.
Another explosion.
The next to last thing he wanted was to be blown up by outlaws.
Yet another boom, and this time, it was right above him. He heard a pop as the gasbag that held the airship aloft ruptured. It wasn’t a large rupture, but even amid the cacophony of the battle, he heard the steam hissing into the open sky.
If they didn’t do something quickly, the skimmers would be the least of their worries. The fog was below, and they were sinking toward it, slowly but surely.
But what could he do? The cannons below were firing as quickly as they could be reloaded, and they were doing a pretty decent job of taking out oncoming skimmers, but there were just so many of the damned little crafts.
Let me.
Rucca’s brow furrowed. He looked down at the communicator he still held, but the screen was blank. He shook it and clicked the button, but it stayed dormant.
I can help you.
Rucca looked around him, but the immediate area was clear. He had pulled himself out of the most trafficked part of the deck when his chair had overturned.
One of the skimmers must have landed a lucky shot because Rucca was thrown forward, away from the railing he had leaned against when the deck beneath him rippled upward. Planks and decking fell away toward the fog, and a concave hole in the side of his ship was now where he had just sat.
Where was his chair? He panicked and looked around frantically. Did it fall into the fog? Was he going to have to rely on Gully or someone else to carry him everywhere he went from now on?
He saw the chair, finally. It, like him, had been thrown across the deck. From a distance, it seemed in one piece, but that was all Rucca could tell about it.
Another round of explosions rang all around him, and he thought the fight was slowing down. No, that was just his ship. They were running out of ammunition. This was a cargo vessel, not a warship. There would only be a small stockpile of cannonballs, just enough to fend off a decent enough pirate attack.
What was he going to do?
Let me. I can help.
Rucca closed his eyes. He was calm. His heart did not race, nor did he shake. Something inside him clicked, and he felt serene, despite his surroundings. It was as though the whole world slowed down, and the explosions and cannons and men yelling were all just part of a glorious song that was only now reaching its crescendo.
He opened his eyes, and Angel’s Landing was closer than it had been. He saw Gully and his team of bums preparing to disembark. Explosions roared all around him, but they sounded so far away.
Do you like this? I can make everything feel this way, you know. All you have to do is let go. Just let go. You’ve done it before. Just let go, and I can help you again.
So Rucca let go, and as he did so, his body was no longer his own. He could feel his body, his arms and hands touching the hard deck of the ship, his skin almost blistering from closer and closer explosions, and he could feel his legs.
See what I can do for you?
It was a strange feeling, his legs. Intellectually, Rucca always knew they were there. They just didn’t react when he told them to do something. It wasn’t a numbness, because numbness implied a loss of feeling. His legs were simply not there.
And then they were.
Rucca rode inside his body like a passenger, seeing out his eyes, feeling his body push itself off the ground and stand on legs that should not physically be able to do so. He watched as something inside of him took control and walked confidently to the edge of the crater that had been blown into the airship.
His body knelt down, and he felt the muscles in his legs tense up. He saw his hands reach out and touch the rough edge of the damaged hull.
Then he felt himself stand up and watched as his hands outstretched in front of him. He saw his palms come together, but not quite touch. He saw the air begin to shimmer between them. He saw fire erupt out of that shimmer, and he watched it snake its way up his arm, where it sat not burning him, yet giving off heat.
He should have cared, but he didn’t. He was just along for the ride, and what a ride it was.
He could feel his head turn to look as the closest skimmer whipped between the Primrose Doubloon and the Angel’s Landing dock upon which Gully and his men were climbing.
He reached up and pulled his goggles down over his eyes, clicking through the layers of colored lenses until only the red ones remained. The world looked like it was on fire. Soon it would be.
His arms spread apart, and he felt himself stand in a cruciform, then everything was on fire.
Jets of flame rushed from his hands and slammed into the nearest two skimmers, burning through them, and into the next. The fire burned through their light hulls, then bounded to the next skimmer, jumping from craft to craft and threading the gout of flame between them like a needle stitching a quilt.
From skimmer to skimmer the fire rushed, and Rucca felt himself smile. He felt no joy, felt no anxiety, felt no fear. He felt peace as he watched events unfold before him.
When the last two skimmers were destroyed, the jet of flame surged toward Angel’s Landing itself, igniting as much of the wooden structure as it could. Rucca could not see what happened inside the skyport, but he could feel it. He could feel the fire flying from room to room, leaving bits and pieces of itself behind to consume anything it could.
Gully and his men were still standing at the edge of the dock, and Rucca saw them turn and run back toward the airship as the fire penetrated the skyport. They climbed back aboard as the fire disappeared from Rucca’s hand, its tail end finally flowing from his body.
He walked slowly and confidently across the deck to what was left of the railing along the bow and watched himself lean down and grip the charred wood. He felt his neck tilt upward as he watched the fire streak through the sky along its path through the skimmers and into Angel’s Landing.
He watched these events through his own eyes, and he barely understood they were not his anymore. He watched as a passenger rather than a participant, but even still, he could not stop himself from feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment as he watched Angel’s Landing detonate, burning all the way down into the fog.
End of Part One
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
AUSTIN KING is married, but thanks you for your interest.
B.J. KEETON is a writer, teacher, and runner. When he isn't trying to think of a way to trick Fox into putting Firefly back on the air, he is either writing science fiction, watching an obscene amount of genre television, or looking for new ways to integrate fitness into his geektastic lifestyle. In addition to Nimbus, he is also the author of Birthright, the first book in The Technomage Archive.
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